Chapter 1

"Land ho!"

The cry from the crow's nest raised a ragged cheer from the men on deck. Jack Sparrow, drooping half-asleep at the helm, jerked his head up at the noise and immediately regretted it, as the motion sent twin streams of rainwater from his tricorne's brim down the back of his coat. Jack swore, snatched the hat off and shook it out, planted it back atop his head, and cast a furtive glance over one shoulder to see if any of the crew were watching.

They weren't, or at least not so that it showed. Most of the Black Pearl's crew were below decks, catching up on much-needed rest now that the storm was done. The few still on deck were too busy and exhausted to pay any mind to their captain making a bloody wet fool of himself. Jack decided it was probably time to hand off the helm. The unexpected cold bath had roused him somewhat, but he still felt as if he was clutching the wheel more to keep himself upright than to steer. He'd guided the Pearl through the storm and most of the night that followed it, not trusting anyone else to keep to his chosen course in the gusting, constantly shifting wind. But now the wind had died down to a strong, steady breeze, land was in sight, and he wasn't going to do himself, his ship or Anamaria any good by falling asleep on his feet.

"Mr. Gibbs!"

"Captain?" Gibbs clambered down from the rigging, looking much more sober than usual despite his drenched clothes and the thick red welt where a snapped bowline had caught him across the face the night before.

"Helm's yours," Jack told him. "Wake me if the wind shifts."

He made it halfway to his cabin before a hatch sprang open at his feet, revealing the sallow face of the Pearl's surgeon, a skinny and unnaturally sober Welshman known, for some obscure reason, as Pig Eye Pete. Pig Eye had earned his position mostly by virtue of a strong stomach and a steady hand, but he made up in practical experience what he lacked in schooling, and he was willing to do the job when no one else would. He was looking after Anamaria now, and Jack wouldn't trade places with him for all the gold in the Spanish Main.

"Captain." Pig Eye hauled himself onto the deck and let the hatch cover fall shut behind him with a clang. "Are we nearing land yet?"

"Sighted it just now." Jack waved one hand vaguely in the direction where he knew the island must be. "How's Anamaria?"

"Drunk." Pig Eye rubbed the side of his head and winced. "And, uhm, feisty. I was just with her, changing the bandage. Nearly brained me with the bottle, she did, and cursed me from here to Tortuga. And all I'd done was jostle her leg a bit. I can't help it if the ship pitches, can I?"

"We'll be off the ship soon enough," Jack told him. "Then you can fix her up proper and keep your noggin safe. Not to mention the rum."

Pig Eye laughed, but the laughter was a little strained. Jack decided that a quick detour was in order. He gave Pig Eye an encouraging pat on the shoulder and made his way down to the forward main deck, where Anamaria had set up a pair of canvas screens to make herself a cabin.

He heard her long before he saw her, wailing at the top of her lungs and only marginally on key.

"Where is me bed, me noggy noggy bed,
It's all gone for rum and tobacco!"

Jack pulled a screen aside just enough to let himself in.

"Anamaria..."

"I lent it to a whore and now it's all a-wore—"

"Anamaria!"

"Bugger off, Jack."

She lay sprawled on her cot, the near-empty bottle of rum—all they had to give her for the pain—cradled against her chest. Her right leg was propped up on a cushion, the bandage strips gaping open around the jagged shard of wood embedded deep in her thigh.

It had been such a rotten piece of luck, Jack thought grimly. The crew had been taking in the main topsail when the yardarm snapped, smashing both itself and Anamaria into the port bulwark, which collapsed from the impact. A quick grab by Gibbs had kept Anamaria from going overboard, but it didn't keep a chunk of the bulwark from spearing right through her leg. It couldn't be pulled out, not without leaving God knew how many splinters behind to fester and rot, and Pig Eye had insisted on being on solid ground before he tried to cut it out. So Jack had set a course for the nearest bit of uninhabited rock he knew of, and hoped he'd judged their position correctly after the storm was done tossing them around.

"Anamaria, light of my life." Jack made to sit on the edge of the cot, thought better of it, and perched on top of her sea chest instead. "You have to stop terrorizing Pig Eye. He's going to be too affrighted to come near you if you keep it up."

"Good."

"Makes it a tad difficult to do surgery."

"I said, good." Anamaria held the bottle up to her ear and shook it a little, listening to the rum slosh inside, then tilted her head back and gulped another mouthful. "You keep that ham-handed Welshman away from me. He's a surgeon like I'm a queen."

"But you are, luv—a true queen amongst pirates." Jack caught the fist she swung at him and planted a kiss on the knuckles. It was a measure of how weakened she was that he was able to do so without getting his face ripped off. "And Pig Eye's the only surgeon we've got, so don't go making him so nervous that his hands start shaking, savvy?"

Anamaria sighed and set the bottle down on the floor next to the cot.

"Come here, Jack," she said in a tired voice. "I need to tell you something."

Jack leaned toward her, concerned, then yelped and fell forward as she grabbed a fistful of dreadlocks and yanked. He caught himself against the edge of the cot, his face just inches from Anamaria's suddenly revitalized glare.

"I swear to God, Jack," she hissed, with rum on her breath and murder in her eyes, "if you let that skinny bastard take my leg off, I'm going to slit both your throats and dance on your bloody corpses."

"On one leg?" Jack blurted, and yelped again as she tightened her grip and twisted. "Ow! Just a joke, darling, no one's removing any body parts or slitting any throats around here. Now you just take your dainty little hand off my— Ow-ow-ow! Dammit, Anamaria, you're worse than Mr. Cotton's parrot!"

"I should bloody well hope so," she snarled, but she did let go. "I meant what I said, Jack."

"So did I." Jack sincerely hoped Pig Eye wouldn't make a liar out of him. It would be a tricky bit of work, cutting that splinter out without nicking a blood vessel. And Jack knew as well as Anamaria did that cutting a leg off that high above the knee was as good as a death sentence, even with a trained surgeon at work.

She scowled and snatched up the bottle again.

"Get out of here, Jack. Let a woman drink in peace.

"It's all for me grog, me jolly, jolly grog,
All gone for rum and tobacco..."

Her drunken voice pursued Jack back to the upper deck and most of the way to his cabin.

"Spent all me tin on the lassies drinking gin," he mumbled sleepily as he dropped onto his own cot. "And across the western ocean I must wander..."